


oh please say to me (you'll let me be your man)

by antisepticdork



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Coda, Episode Related, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slash, a minor spoiler, also some blood, but nothing major, i've never written anything that made my molars ache until now, mcdanno, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antisepticdork/pseuds/antisepticdork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Related to episode 4.10, specifically what happened as they went into the Army storage bunker. (Steve "offering" to hold Danny's hand.)</p><p>Or, five times Danny and Steve held hands and one time it was different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh please say to me (you'll let me be your man)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm back! After watching Friday's episode, I TOTALLY had to do something with these guys and hand-holding. This is my first attempt at one of these "five times" one shots, and I think it's pretty adorable. I didn't mention Steve's relationship with Catherine in this one and I'm not sure why - I wrote it all in one night, and it didn't come out that way so I left it alone. I love Cath, but this was supposed to be short and sweet and I didn't want to force her in. Sorry if there's any mistakes, but I'm posting this after being dilated at the eye doctor's this afternoon. Hopefully you enjoy it!
> 
> The title is from "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" by The Beatles.

The first time it happened wasn’t long after Steve co-opted Danny from HPD. They were walking into the lobby of one of the ritzier hotels downtown when Danny noticed something a little troubling, more so than the crazy person walking (correction: _striding_ ) next to him. 

Quickly Danny calculated the odds of this working if they went in as cops and decided they were shitty. “Steve.”

McGarrett looked at him without looking _down_ at him; Danny would’ve needed to be subjected to water torture before he would’ve admitted that he liked that. “What?”

“Look, our main suspect in these murders is the desk guy, right? If we walk up there and flash our badges, he probably won’t tell us anything of import and if it’s _not_ him, we’ll spook the real killer because we know it’s someone who works here.”

“Okay. What do you think we should do?”

Danny tried not to have a coronary at being asked for his opinion before they dove headfirst into something. “I think we play into his wheelhouse,” he said, and then grabbed Steve’s hand, because all the previous victims had been gay couples.

To his credit, Steve didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead he threaded their fingers together, and Danny had to conceal his surprise when he felt a jolt go down his spine at the touch. There was a rational explanation, of course—yeah, he’d just missed this kind of, uh, intimacy. Rachel hadn’t been big on this, so it had been a long time since he’d held a hand that didn’t belong to Grace. 

He definitely _did not_ like how it felt. No.

And when they walked up to the check-in counter and asked for a room, the ugly spark in the bastard’s eye told them everything they needed to know.

 

~***~

 

“Hang on, Danno!” Steve’s voice was strained, and with damn good reason.

Danny glared up at him, from where he was dangling off a cliff. It was the takeoff point for a seventy-foot drop to the raging ocean and sharp rocks below. The only thing that kept him from falling to a very painful death was the white-knuckled grip he had on Steve’s hand, which had shot out right after he’d lost his hold on the cliff face. “No, Steven, I thought letting go would be a good idea!”

Steve grunted in response, slowly bringing his left arm forward to join his right, despite the gunshot wound in his shoulder bleeding profusely into the dirt.

Danny was trying to hide his fear, and unfortunately that came out as bluster. “I mean, that’s something _you’d_ do in this situation—then again, knowing you you’d also grow wings and fucking _fly_ —”

“Danny… do me a favor?”

“Shut up.” Steve shut his eyes briefly, the pain in his face smoothing out as he undoubtedly called up some scary-as-hell SEAL skill to keep it at bay. When his eyes opened again, they were as blank as marbles, and if Danny hadn’t already been practically shitting his pants he would’ve freaked out. He extended his bad arm. “Grab my hand—I’ll pull you up.”

Danny didn’t want to do it—as much as he bitched and occasionally punched the man, he would never hurt Steve—but he wasn’t feeling particularly suicidal either. Gritting his teeth—oh yeah, he’d been shot in the shoulder too—he grabbed Steve’s bloodstained hand with his own and didn’t fight the iron grip that threatened to crush bone. 

Then Danny was coming up and over the cliff side and found himself sprawled on his back next to Steve, both of them panting for breath due to effort and adrenaline. Danny didn’t bother looking behind them and counting the bodies, didn’t really want to think about how many people Steve had killed to get to him, even if they were drug-dealing scumbags.

They broke apart the hands that were sticky with blood, but kept the other two together until the ambulance came.

 

~***~

 

The third time, Steve wasn’t conscious.

Danny had been in the hospital room—in the section known amongst the nurses as the 5-0 Wing since they were there so much—as soon as he could talk a doctor into letting him enter. When he saw Steve lying in bed, completely still and covered in black and purple bruises, he almost walked right back out. He’d seen Chin and Kono in similar shape, but sometimes Steve seemed to have this crazy idea that he was invincible and, in a way, it had rubbed off on Danny.

The doctor told him that Steve was still out from the drugs given to him while they repaired some internal bleeding and that the oxygen was just a precaution. 

Then he left, and Danny went to stand by the window, rubbing a hand over his mouth and taking in the view without really seeing it. 

“You’re an idiot, you know,” he observed, not caring whether Steve could hear him—it was something that needed to be said. “I tell you that all the time and it gets old, but you are a fucking _idiot_. How could somebody that’s so smart be so stupid, too? I have no idea, and yet you’ve turned it into an art form, my friend.”

A lack of a response hit Danny like a blow to the gut, and he sat down heavily in the plastic chair next to the bed and put his head in his hands. 

He could’ve asked himself why this was getting to him so much and it would’ve been as dumb as Steve trying to bust up an Armenian smuggling ring on his own. Steve was his partner and he cared about him, yes, but it wasn’t that simple. Danny had known it for a long time now, but to actually _admit_ that he was in love with an insane Navy SEAL with a hero complex and a heart that were both the size of the entire state? That was something he wasn’t quite ready to do yet, for fear of losing his job and the best friendship he’d ever had—he just didn’t figure it was worth the risk.

Danny was broken out of his McGarrett-esque brooding by a clumsy hand touching his head, giant fingers already messing with his hair.

“Can hear you thinkin’ from over here, Danno,” Steve said quietly, the words coming out raspy. “Woke me up.”

Danny removed Steve’s hand from his hand as he sat up. He cradled it in his own, mindful of the IV. “About time, Sleeping Beauty—I can’t talk to myself forever, you know.”

Steve smiled, eyes slipping shut again. “Bet you could.”

Danny stroked his thumb along Steve’s fingers and shut his eyes too, for a different reason. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

 

~***~

 

They were cleaning some crap out of Steve’s guest room one afternoon when Danny sliced his hand open on a broken whiskey bottle that John McGarrett had undoubtedly left there before his untimely end.

That didn’t stop Danny from swearing loudly enough for Steve to come stomping back down the stairs with his gun drawn. “Danno? What’s wrong?”

“Jesus, Steve, who the hell are you gonna shoot, huh? The car?” Danny had already grabbed a relatively clean-looking rag and tied it around his hand to staunch the bleeding. He waved the other one at Steve, indicating how ridiculous he was. “Put that away—it’s just your dad trying to give me tetanus from beyond the grave.”

Steve flicked the safety on, stowed the gun in his waistband—Danny tried to ignore the strip of tan skin that was exposed by the movement—and came over, taking Danny’s arm gently and lifting part of the rag to take a peek. “Ouch.”

“Really, that’s all you’ve got? _Ouch_? I had no idea I was staying with such a wordsmith!”

Steve stifled a grin as he led Danny into the bathroom. “You know you can stay as long as you want, right? If you can’t find another place—”

“The only reason I need _another_ place, may I remind you, is that my _former_ place got shot to hell and back by some guys with AKs and a bad attitude and my landlord did not take kindly to it.”

“How is that _my_ fault?” Steve feigned offence as he hip-checked Danny into sitting on the toilet and rooted under the sink for a first-aid kit.

“It is _always_ your fault—” Danny cut himself off as Steve produced a tiny syringe full of something, along with a field-style suture kit. Danny been so caught up in his rant that he hadn’t thought about why they were in the bathroom. “What are you planning on doing with that?”

Steve blinked, and dammit, he knew how to use those puppy-dog eyes to his advantage. “I’m going to sew up your hand.”

Danny thought about protesting, but really, the cut hurt like hell and he wasn’t up for a ride to the hospital. “Fine. Tell me that’s anesthetic.”

Steve looked amused as he swabbed Danny’s skin with an alcohol wipe before sliding the needle in and depressing the plunger. “Course it is. I’m not a barbarian.”

“Oh, I would beg to differ on that subject, babe.”

A lovely numbness spread through Danny’s hand, but he still felt the warmth of Steve’s fingers wrapped around his own as he threaded his way through Danny’s skin.

 

~***~

 

The fifth time, Danny came jogging into Five-0 HQ to find Chin and Kono watch from a distance as Steve tore his office apart. He put lunch down on the table and nudged Chin, jerking his thumb toward the mess. “What the hell is that?”

Chin rubbed his mouth before meeting Danny’s gaze. “HPD just found the missing girl. She’s dead.”

“Gunshot wound to the head,” Kono added quietly, running a hand through her hair.

Danny blew out a breath, just as shaken and disgusted as the rest of his team. They’d been working the disappearance of the girl’s father for two days and hers for around fifteen hours, and had feared from the start that this might be the outcome—they had plenty of suspects and motive, but no clues as to where they hell they were. The second abduction had hit particularly hard, considering the kid wasn’t much older than Grace.

“Let me go talk to him.” Danny crossed the room and pushed open the door to Steve’s office, stepping over the scattered contents of his overturned desk—being careful wasn’t really necessary, since everything was pretty much destroyed. 

Steve was standing in the corner near the flagpole, hands on his hips and head hanging between his shoulders.

Danny stopped about a foot shy of him. “Hey. Why didn’t you call?”

“Figured you’d be back,” was the subdued response. “It’s my fault, Danny.”

Danny shut his eyes briefly before bridging the gap between them and poking Steve in the side. “I know you probably won’t listen to me, but you had no way of knowing that this would happen. None of us did.”

Steve turned to face him, expressive features—they were that way around Danny, at least—twisted by anger and grief. His hands were at his sides now, clenched into fists. “The father got kidnapped for what he knew about the organization, it wasn’t much of a stretch to—”

“We had no reason to think they would take the daughter too,” Danny cut in. “Obviously, he wouldn’t talk—”

“And we should’ve been there to get him out!” Steve exclaimed, just shy of shouting. He put a hand over his face, index finger digging into his forehead. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Before his mind caught up to what he was doing, Danny was reaching up and catching Steve’s wrist, tugging it down until he could hold on without getting a cramp. “We’ll find the bastards, okay? We always do.”

Steve’s lips twitched into something that resembled a smile. He didn’t break eye contact when he shifted his hand until he was holding Danny’s loosely. “Yeah. Okay.”

They looked at one another until Chin called for them from the bullpen—he had a lead. Danny was glad he didn’t have time to think about what that exchange had really meant.

 

~***~

 

They were at Danny’s place, Monday Night Football going on the TV and a pizza box resting on the coffee table along with a mostly-empty six-pack of beer. 

Danny wasn’t exactly sure how there wound up being one bottle left in the case, but it was going to be his. He’d been working on his second for longer than usual, because he’d found himself distracted by Steve—by his voice, the little sidelong glances, the way he threw his big-ass feet back up on the table every time Danny kicked them off. 

This wasn’t unusual, except it wasn’t any of those things that had really stolen Danny’s attention tonight.

No, it was the bastard’s _hands_.

More than once when he was sort of watching the game—it was the Bengals and the Vikings, for Christ’s sake, who _cared_ —Danny had found himself reaching for Steve’s free hand, which was alternately resting in his lap (dangerous territory) or on the couch. Then his eyes would wander to the hand curled around the sweating bottle of beer, watch a bead of moisture run over Steve’s knuckles, become totally mesmerized (and just a tiny bit aroused) when he brought the bottle to his lips and took a swig, follow the line of his throat while he swallowed—

 _Wow._ Absently Danny wondered on a scale of one to ten, how rude/creepy would it be to hide in the can and jerk off over your best friend while said best friend was sitting in your living room? He didn’t dare to try it, even with the water running, because Steve had hearing like a goddamn bat and the goof would probably think he was getting murdered in his own bathroom and charge in guns blazing, only to find Danny with his pants around his ankles and his hand around his dick.

Shaking off _that_ disturbing scenario, Danny leaned forward to grab the last beer at the same time Steve did and felt electricity skip down his arm when their fingers touched.

Beside him, Steve stilled. 

“Do you want it?” he asked after a pause, and was Danny dreaming or did he hear some kind of _insinuation_ within that question?

Licking his lips and knowing he was potentially ruining his life, Danny replied, “Are we talking about the beer?”

Steve’s hand grabbed Danny’s as he spat out, “Fuck no,” and pressed him against the arm of the couch, crushing their lips together in a kiss that had been coming since their first day working together. Danny let out a noise that was half surprise and half relief, squeezing Steve’s fingers and returning the built-up clash of tongues and teeth. Steve’s other hand came up to cup Danny’s jaw and the kiss changed pace suddenly, turning exploratory and so passionate it would’ve made Danny’s head spin if he had been into clichés like that.

Danny chuckled as Steve’s mouth migrated to his jaw and then his throat. “Knew you kept holding my hand for a reason.”

Steve pulled back to look at him. “Hey, that wasn’t just me—” The movement jostled the missing beer bottle out from under Steve’s ass, and it rolled to the floor, landing with a watery _clunk_.

Danny couldn’t help it—he started laughing, and pretty soon Steve joined him.

“You _sneak_ ,” Danny got out between gasps for air, pushing at Steve’s ridiculous chest before tugging him to his feet. “C’mon—I’ve been waiting three freakin’ years for this and I’m not about to do it on a couch.”

Steve grinned at him, and it was equally full of mischief and affection. “Might want to—you’ll get all pissy if I break your bed.”

“That better be a promise,” Danny said as they went upstairs, hands still joined. 

And if there was a little more groping involved this time that was fine with both of them.


End file.
